Peter Dalton Recalls His Vital Role in
Roscommon Gaels' Mid-South Junior Final Win

Sitting down watching the rugby between Munster and Castres at 4:20pm ish Got a call from Malcolm to say the Gaels were stuck for a few players.  How stuck?  Just the bare 15.  Needed a sub.  Now sub I can do.  It's the actual playing that I have a problem with.  I landed out at the match, my father gave me a lift.  I had to pay £4 in.  Had the gear in a light Reebok bag in case this as all a joke.  This would ensure me drifting into the background.  Stuck my head in the door and asked "you're alright aren't ye?".  Got grabbed by Andy Hession who was the first sub until I arrived.
Tog out!  tog out?  the relief on Andy's face as he passed the poisoned chalice to me.  Usual pre-match build up that I had forgotten.  If not for yourselves, then for the town, the club, the jersey, the pride wearing the jersey and the people that had gone before.  Did they seriously think that I was able to run across the pitch?
Christy Rattigan was on the line on the dressing room side.  Milky was the required one umpire on the goal at the bottom.  Got thrown a set of gloves and a top to mind.  Ref threw in the ball and off it went.  30 mins after the greatest half of football that was never played had ended.  We were useless.  6 - 2 and we had the wind, and the hill.  Things were not looking good.  The team shuffled off the pitch quietly.  That is except for one player who was having a shouting match with Christy Rattigan for some dubious line decisions.  Some harsh words swapped but this was only a prequel to what was to come.  Half time is normally the opportunity for stars among the subs to show their wares and to prove to the stand that it was a complete travesty that they were left off the first team.  Those who had not the skill to pull this deception off could limit their attempts on goal to sure things and limp to convince were it not for their injury they would be a first team player.
Two guys in Clann na Gael track suits were doing just this.  I chose not to go to the other goal end.  I would have been on my own.  Maybe I could have chased after the ball that I kicked, but no.  I went into the dressing room after the team, it was safer in there.  Or so I thought...
Last in, door was closed behind me.  The three selectors were not happy.  No pride, no hunger, nobody out there dying, no commitment.  Just not putting in the effort.  Then a change in tactics from management.  When all else fails insult the players.
Two players were told that while they aspirations of playing senior they were not fit to play under 12.  More concentrating on one of the player's defects saw a reliable reaction.  He took exception to these comments and took off his jersey and flung it at the selectors.  Went into the showers, cursing abuse.
Realising that this was a turn for the worse I deftly recovered his jersey from the panic that he had left behind.  Some of the players made an effort to get the selector to go and take back what he had said.  Nothing was been taken back.
I had the jersey and met offended player in the showers.  At this stage he was in a frenzied temper.  I told him that this was his jersey and to put it on.  He took the jersey and I left as the other players were coaxing him to go out and play, and out to play the Gaels went.  15 of the finest footballers, an angry mob of selectors and their only non-playing sub.  The second half was what should be all footballer's dreams, 30 mins of clarity of thought, of fearlessness, of complete commitment of a oneness of a common goal which was to show that selector how wrong he was.
A Clann own goal turned the game in the Gaels' favour.  Grit and determination all over the field from the Gaels, Durkin and Casey played through the pain barrier and were it another day would have been subbed to comfort their injury.
Amidst the odd scare of such a proposition I hid in the dug-out or shadowed the coach to remain close but out of view.  I can not imagine which was more scary, looking at an empty dug-out or looking at a dug-out where I was their last throw of the dice.  Neither can be heartening. But heart is what we had.  Guts there too.  We clung back the lead from Clann to go level and then to excel into the loneliness of a lead with the crowd unsure of what time was left.
And then the whistle and the disbelief, it was a draw?  We had won by a point, are you sure?  Yes.  An invasion onto the pitch by the backroom team, we had never doubted ye.  A reluctant reconciliation.  The great escape, Steve McQueen could have played for the Gaels that day with Newman on the left.
A battered cup was brought out, a loose microphone and wire, the winning team captain and three cheers for the opposition.  And then a remark by Casey who was unaware till that moment that he was captain.  He thanked the selectors and then, a further irony, as he thanked the players for the training and commitment.  Back in the dressing room, the laughing and joking started.  The awareness of survival amidst everyone.  A comment by Tom Lyons which summed up the day.  Andy Dufrane, crawled on his hands and knees.  Well we had just done the same

Never mind the county . . . the club is where it is all at

ALL over the country, the common man's GAA season is finishing. It is the season of Sundays of Club finals in every county. A chance for local pride and an opportunity for young men to be heroes among their own people.

An All-Ireland win can command a great outpouring of county spirit and becomes the recruitment instrument of the future, the club though is where it is all at: all forms of human life are involved in club activities - the butcher, the baker and candlestick maker now mix with the successful builder and prominent businessman. The teacher still plays a vital role, while the parish priest, who normally filled the position of Club Chairman in the past, has now gone down a bit in the pecking order.

Every Monday morning the papers give prominent coverage to county finals, crowds of ten thousand and more are common in some counties. Underneath the Senior finals, which get the National reports, there are Intermediate and various layers of Junior championships to be decided. Each one gives a massive boost to an area and the grade makes no difference at all. A Junior C championship is celebrated with the same enthusiasm as a Senior.

An extension of the same idea to the county structure would give every county a realistic chance of winning something. No county with 32 club teams would expect everyone to compete at Senior level, yet that is what is expected of every county: one big competition with everyone involved. Hardly fair?

Some of the reports over the last few weeks have shown the raw side of club competitions, matches abandoned and violent incidents destroying others. The disciplinary system is a mess, and during the year players have used the courts to beat the rap when a suspension was going to prevent them playing in some big game.

The GAA authorities indicate a willingness to defend these cases yet they would be skating on thin ice. Until there is a fair system of suspension based on games and with time in more serious cases, all backed up by an independent appeals procedure, then the GAA would be wasting their breath and a lot of money too.

It is incidents of indiscipline that gives the GAA a bad name in some quarters. Looking from the outside there appears to be a very grey area in the toleration of violence and the abuse of referees. Nothing, of course, could be further from the truth but the perception remains. It gives sustenance to those who wish to view the GAA as some type of narrow minded half savages, especially when Croke Park is thrown in to the mix.

The incredible amount of unpaid social work in looking after young people at local level seems no defence, a big brush tars everyone. Not that I am ever happy to see any writer or commentator try to pretend that any game is superior to another; the objective should be to ensure that a maximum range of choices in different sports are available to young people rather than just do nothing. After that the game they choose long term is often down to the enthusiasm of volunteers and the way kids are treated.

Club football for me holds more appeal, at least most of the time, to County football. It really does represent the heart of a community. Clubs are where you see children grow up, talent develop, a few to the top while others squander what God gives. A bit like life really. And there is room for everyone without a hierarchy of importance. Those who put out the flags, mow the grass and take down the nets play just as big a role as the Chairman and Manager.

Clubs are changing: as people move and their children grow up in new areas, their parents' allegiances often shift with them. New clubs develop in expanding urban centres and are given at least some energy from those who have moved into the community but have played for other clubs.

Yet any manager or selector who spends a lot of time with players and sees them making big sacrifices would like to have it rewarded.

Tradition plays a vital role in club football, it means every young lad wants to play for his club and county, it is a powerful motivating tool. In some places it is not there and must be built from scratch. That is what all the new clubs around the country, are attempting, and making the breakthrough can appear impossible, but nothing is impossible with men of steel and persistence.

Winning a Senior championship copper-fastens the status of any club.

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Made one inter county wintry league substituted appearance back in  1978 and has been a regular full back on the club team, since then after having acquired golden experience and regularly deferred to as the Club expert on any scenario on the field. Wears supports on both knees, both wrists, both elbows, has no teeth left from horrendous off the ball incident involving priest at wing back on opposite team. Completely grey from shock of farming accident 15 years prior. Wears size 8 boot which are very small feet to carry considerable girth of a man his age and width consequently has dreadful difficulty staying on his feet but can always be relied upon to drag his man down inside the square. Unbeatable on a high pulling ball and under a dropping ball has been known to ruin many a hurling career, sex life and marriage prospects of many's the young hurler. Level head on the team and can always be called upon to make a passionate call on the annual first and only round of the championship what it means to wear the colours of the parish and fellas that are years younger than him retired long ago just because they don't understand the Pride at which point he breaks down. Wants to die on the hurling field only problem is he seems to ensure it happens to many's the hurler who comes or pulls across him.  The Legend !

Regular supporter generally retired ended up holding the medical kit one day and ever since the lads have called him the Doctor. Well versed on psychology that applies in serious medical emergencies on the field in fact his most recent comment upon viewing the broken leg of one of the star hurlers was "Jesus his leg is fucked lads !". Has been known to light up cigarette for player while tending to his injuries and is especially well versed at herbal remedies for wounds liberally applying distilled potatoes from a barrel to a muscle wound with the caveat 'Don't waste it'. Generally complements his medical knowledge with detailed recollections of even the most mundane club encounters of the previous 20 years. Club allocates 50 pounds a year to his budget for medical seminars run by the county board amounting 850 pounds of club service and as many pints that have been bought in the seminar's stead. Generally is a pipe smoker and his smell of tobacco lingers long after him in the dressing room.

Generally hailing from sports mecca of Limerick this all rounder seems to have reached zenith of sports career no matter what he turns his hand to. Took up hurling at 16 years old and made the minor county team two years later pissing off a lot of fellas who had been hurling since they were born stick in hand. He is the one lad everyone loves hopping off at training and generally sustains a lot of finger and hand injuries during training. Generally remains clean even during winter running and his kit bag is never O Neills , always Umbro, Man United or Canterbury. Never drinks with the lads in the Club and if he does it's a rock shandy. Generally a sad individual despite the fact his girlfriend is a model, lads have no time for him as he will never take on 7 brothers from Ballybrown for one of his own men. Bad Egg!!

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 Wheeled out of the pub for the start of winter hurling where the sliotar drops dead in the Square and the last man standing tends to be the Timber Merchant. Every Club has one as before the start of any game when fellas are giving their spare hurleys to someone to carry for them, it takes one man alone to carry the sticks for the timber merchant. Loves the throw in ball and has been known to run full length of the field for a throw in which he wins but hurley flies into smithereens. Tends to be well known among all the local clubs and generally the standard against which aspiring hard men judge themselves. Walks with the cocky gait of a gladiator on the field, his girlfriend/wife tends to be 'a brewtal looking wan' who looks as if she was dragged through the Suck backwards and hit a few bunkers along the way. She generally tends to be the boss in the relationship, she is actually affectionately known as the Corner back (more details later). Timber Merchant generally retires early with major arthritis but his two sons are carrying on the family tradition having already been sent off and banned twice from 14 and u 16 championships. Dad is their hero.

Vies with the legend in terms of team appearances and sometimes longevity, emotionally attached to his many collections of hurleys and needs at least two young fellas to carry out his hurleys at the start of a game as he has so many. Has stick for every weather type and usually has a maggoty towel of great sentimental value that he uses to dry the hurleys. Was excused from regular physical training at the age of 22 because he was finding it so difficult consequently now weighs

17 and a half stone, can drink 22 pints in one sitting, is looking to retire this year even though he is just turning 26. Possesses ferocious vocabulary and can often be heard spewing vitriol during a  game , and that is only at his own team. Doesn't believe he deserves criticism levelled at him during a game after letting in his fifth goal ( 4 of which scuttered under his hurley), blaming the full back line for being 45 yards off their men after collectively thundering out to pull on a ball and miss it . G'wan Chunga !!! Has an effortless stroke and wins the Puc Fada every year in the parish but never lifts his game at inter county puc fada as he can't stay off the drink. His brother known as 'The Drinker.' (see below)

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Would without doubt be the best county minor ever produced by the club except for the fact as a prodigious under 14 talent was given a celebratory pint by The Doctor (see above) after winning the first round of the 14 championship and it was downhill from there. Progressed from putting sugar in his Guinness to sculling half pints of Bulmers in the showers before the game. Can be regularly seen puking in the changing room toilets at half time, flashes of brilliance produced once a year for a few minutes enough to warrant the three old men on the sidelines to mourn the loss of talent in a youth such as him. Club in the light of his behaviour reviews their drink policy and radically alters it so that only Under 15 hurlers and upwards are allowed pints on the day of a match, upper limit set at 8 pints, only allowed cider and vodka, no whiskey allowed to under 16's. Had to be dragged from the local at 4am the night before the county final, eyes red in photo, scored 1-6 from play , went on a two month bender after the win, wrote off three family cars , needs to be collected for every game . Great talent.

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Living vicariously through the current crop of youngsters. They attend with diligence every club game from street leagues to senior. Hurlers on the Ditch they recall with pride the battles they fought for the parish in their days and one of them knocks with glee on the metal plate in his skull inserted after a vicious game, though he played on the full game , busted open as wide as the Hoors Gait ! Not known as great supporters of the more graceful style of hurler in the club, three man fan club of 'the legend' and 'the timber merchant'. Tweed caps badly need replacing, cigarette butt almost attached cutaneously to the lower lip, two carry bad hips from ferocious games of their youth, and one has a shortened leg as a result of a kick from a ******* when younger though rumour has it got was from his brother over a woman who left them both at the tender age of 28 for a midfielder in the next parish. Hasn't spoken to the brother since but managed to end career of other parish's midfielder with a flourish...'But, The ball was there ref ...'

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At first glance this name would elicit the notion of a player on the team, however this is in fact the affectionate pet name for the Lady of the team. Currently engaged for 9 years to the Timber Merchant her own history is as long and varied as the club's. A great supporter of the senior hurling team a spin with the corner back was as necessary as a game of junior hurling for any u-16 youth wanting to be blooded for senior hurling. A very supportive young lady she has had flings with the entire full back line, half back line, midfield pairing of three years ago and 4 of the forwards, the other two having retired 7 years ago though rumour has it she was a great supporter of them too. Her name constantly appears in the changing room banter all the lads slagging each other about her and how they would never go there yet upon reviewing college hurling team newsletter her name appears as "Corner Back Mark 2 , corner back mark 4, corner back 7, " and so on. Eventually settled for the raw charm of The Timber Merchant , likes her men, -ahem!- hard and loves to boast about her fella cutting the head off the opposition. Has been known to stray after 17 pints of  cider and gives a rousing rendition of 'Sean South' after every championship. A great girl altogether, also regular full back on the ladies camogie team, football team, long puck champion 23 years running assuming the title after her Mother retired , herself a virgin like her Mother before her.

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 Bitter about his unsuccessful inter county career he embarks on a mission to bring his crew of 19 , desperate hurlers from U-15 ranks to senior inter county champions in three years. His loyalty to the Club is unquestionable, his red with white stripe O'Neills cotton tracksuit can be seen as the solitary figure cutting grass of a saturday morning at 8am in advance of that afternoon's league game. His passion is unquenchable he finds it hard not to get frustrated at the lackadaisical attitude of some Under 13's. Guaranteed to fall out with Club executive committee over some of his training practices, expects complete infallability and loyalty, generally loses 3 - 5 players during the year through rows about their attendance. His car tends to be a Ford Capri or Ford Cortina, or indeed has a Honda 30. Guaranteed to have 122 - 150 hurleys of all sizes in the boot, replete with sliotars, bottles, deep heat, umbrellas, damp anoraks, odd football boots, steel toe capped boots, mars bars, hats, flags, caps, two helmets, nets, two bags of filthy smelly jerseys, , 1982 version of Limerick Leader July 2nd and Sindo of 1988. Great Club man, but bitter, bitter , bitter.

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A plethora of 'Characters' with a collective hurling experience in terms of years of 383.Matches collective waist size in terms of inches. Meet every Tuesday night and discuss deplorable standard of hurling in the club, blame soccer, rugby and drink. Decide to remove cider from Club bar as too many lads have psychotic episodes with same, cagey about new committee member of 28 years of age, slow to change, ruthless in political manoeuvrings, utmost respect for the county board though the bastards didn't change our Junior B final even though we had three girls and three lads in the Scór finals. Struggle with the accounts and often reply that things have always been done that way. Strictly adhere to committee rules and procedures, everything must go 'through the Chair' and minutes are minutely recorded and scrutinised. Due to age of Committee large amount of Club budget goes on purchasing Mass cards for recently deceased member of opposing hurling teams of old, ar dheis Dé....

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Great for sandwiches and tea after the big games always bring finer touch to Club noting that ashtrays should never be left full in the bar. Often the flirting going on between committee members and ladies committee is horrendous especially as most of them are married to one another. Fairly liberal users of bad language; have been known to question the lineage of many's the referee in their day. Very suspicious of new ladies wanting to help out and generally politely refuse offers of help , and timber merchant on the committee.

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